


sunshine-filled hamantaschen

by mariuscourf



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comical Misunderstandings, Drinking, Heavy Drinking, Jewish Grantaire, M/M, Purim, chag purim y'all, jewish enjolras, this started off as me trying to write a farce but i don't think it's quite there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29685111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariuscourf/pseuds/mariuscourf
Summary: It wouldn't be a Purim carnival without chaos, right?
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 38





	sunshine-filled hamantaschen

**Author's Note:**

> [Purim](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Purim) is my all-time favorite holiday and the one I'm most sad about being pandemic-ed out, so here, let's live vicariously through some fanfiction!
> 
> It's a _mitzvah_ to get so drunk on Purim that you cannot tell the difference between Haman (bad guy) and Mordecai (good guy). As such, there is a _lot_ of drinking in here.

Standing upright and trying to hang up streamers while wearing an entire rubber horse head over his face was hard enough for Grantaire without having Enjolras in his eyesight, but holy shit, he almost dropped his staple gun seeing Enjolras walk into the college dining hall.

Enjolras. In a _toga_. With Combeferre’s mandolin strapped across his back and his stupid Birkenstocks with a backstrap, because even the mighty Apollo needs arch support sometimes– why did he even wear a costume to set up for the Purim carnival, that was so unnecessary and the sight of him was going to kill Grantaire… 

Then again, Grantaire was wearing a horse mask too. But in his defense, he didn’t want to have to walk back to his dorm between setup and the actual event to change. Plus it was funny. And the head gave him some semblance of a barrier between his eyes and the Greek god in front of him, lest he blind himself by looking directly into the sun.

Courfeyrac whistled as Enjolras walked by and tossed him a roll of blue tape. “You’re on streamer duty, too!” Well, fuck. Grantaire was already hot and sweating enough under the horse mask, did he have to add Enjolras-induced flushing to his impending heat stroke?

Shit, he was heading over. “ _Chag Purim_ ,” Enjolras nodded in greeting at Grantaire.

Grantaire couldn’t talk underneath the stupid mask, it wasn’t like the sight of Enjolras was leaving him speechless or anything like that.

“Enjolras!”

Some freshman bounded in, dressed as someone unaware that there was a costume party about to happen. Courfeyrac’s roommate, Grantaire thought, although he hadn’t spent enough time around Courf’s apartment to be sure.

“Enjolras, I had an idea for –”

Enjolras scowled.

“– and we could go out on Sunday and talk about it?”

Awkward and stumbling? Okay, that was definitely Marius Pontmercy. Take that, face-blindness.

“I can’t, Pontmercy,” Enjolras said, and Marius gave him puppy dog eyes, in the way that all freshmen do when begging for upperclassmen approval. “I, err, have a boyfriend.”

Grantaire was suddenly so grateful for the horse head so no one could see him laugh. Enjolras thinking Marius was asking him out when Marius was just trying to bring some asinine idea to the ABC? Although, maybe following through on whatever the heck Marius had planned was a worse fate than dating the man himself– last semester he had accidentally (or at least Grantaire _hoped_ it was accidentally) sent an email to the entire student body asking if anyone had seen a pair of cufflinks he had lost. If that was his concept of a good idea, Enjolras was right to be optimistic and jump to the “he must think I’m undeniably hot and shine with the light of a Greek god, especially because I am literally dressed up as one right now” conclusion.

“Oh!” Marius said. “Um. Okay?”

Poor Pontmercy.

Enjolras looked over and tried his best to make eye contact with Grantaire, except the horse-mask eyes actually landed somewhere around Grantaire’s forehead. Still. Grantaire nodded and grabbed Enjolras’s hand– _shit_ , he was grabbing Enjolras’s hand, and Enjolras wasn’t running away or screaming in terror or anything.

Then again, Enjolras very well might not know it was him underneath the horse mask. _Thank you_ , he mouthed as Marius slowly backed away.

“Enjolras!” Courfeyrac hollered. “Come back here, we need your help on this email,” and just like that Enjolras had dropped Grantaire’s hand and left.

  
  


“You’re his knight in shining odd-toed ungulate mammal,” Cosette laughed.

Grantaire shot her a weird look. “You were a horse girl, weren’t you."

She nodded. “He’s going to spend the whole night fitting a horse mask to every man there!”

“Am I Cinderella in this situation?” Grantaire asked. “Because I didn’t leave the horse mask there, so.”

“Semantics,” Cosette waved it off. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Horse mask is too hard to drink in,” Grantaire said, looking down at his new costume. The mask had been discarded to the floor of Cosette’s dorm room, now hidden underneath a pile of dresses deemed not-good-enough for her Queen Vashti costume.

“And that’s the best you could come up with?”

“Hey! Tom Cruise in Risky Business is iconic.”

“Tom Cruise in Risky Business looks like you just took off your pants, shoes, and horse mask.” Which was precisely what Grantaire did, because he was too lazy to walk the two blocks across campus to get back to his dorm and who carries backup costumes around, anyway?

Courfeyrac probably carried backup costumes around. Bossuet too, because he always spilled something on the first outfit immediately. 

“It doesn’t bug you that Enjolras thought your boyfriend was asking him out?” Grantaire asked.

“Not my boyfriend,” Cosette quickly corrected. “Yet.”

He wanted to give her shit for the dreamy look in her eyes, but Grantaire really wasn’t one to talk.

Finally satisfied with her look, Cosette pulled two vodka-filled shot glasses off of her desk. “ _Chag Purim_ ,” she smiled, handing one over.

“ _L’chaim_ ,” Grantaire clinked and threw it back. “Ready?”

“Let’s go,” Cosette grinned.

  
  


Joly was handing out water bottles to everyone as they walked into the college dining hall. “Hydrate or die-drate!”

Grantaire snickered. “How long did it take to come up with that one?”

“I love your costume, Joly!” Cosette said. “Cowardly lion?”

Joly shook his head. “I’m the lion, Musichetta’s the witch, and Bossuet’s the wardrobe. But he got his arm stuck in plastic hanger, so Chetta’s off helping him with that.”

Grantaire nodded. “And the mighty Apollo?”

Cosette rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna find Marius.”

“Careful, rumor has it Grantaire’s boyf is trying to steal yours,” Courfeyrac walked up, almost doubled over in laughter, dressed in full Yente the Matchmaker drag.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Grantaire and Cosette said in unison. Courfeyrac winked, and Joly tried to cover up his laughter with a lion paw. “Marius is working the photo booth and Enjolras is spinning cotton candy, in addition to spinning your head right round.”

“That’s–” Grantaire started.

“Shhh.” Courfeyrac handed Grantaire a shot glass. “It’s a holiday.”

Grantaire threw the drink back and handed the empty glass back to Courfeyrac. “I’m gonna, uh, walk around.”

Joly waggled his eyebrows. “Have _fuuuuun_.”

He wasn’t off to find Enjolras, that would be ridiculous. Slightly stalker-ish, even. Instead, Grantaire went to Bahorel– sexy hamantaschen– and Feuilly– hanging chad, jamming to some klezmer music in the center of the room. 

“R!” Bahorel grinned. “Dance with us.” He grabbed Grantaire’s hands. “Did you hear about Enjolras’s mystery man?”

“Oh?”

Feuilly nodded. “He thought Marius was asking him out, so he made up a boyfriend.”

“At least,” Bahorel’s voice dropped, “we _think_ he was making one up.”

Feuilly shrugged, or maybe he was doing a new interpretive dance, Grantaire couldn’t tell. “I usually don’t buy into gossip, but he’s always mysteriously busy every Thursday night.”

Well, shit. It made total sense that Enjolras would actually have a boyfriend, how could he not, just _look_ at him. “I’m gonna get us more drinks,” Grantaire shouted over the music. Bahorel nodded.

Enjolras was at the drink station, and shit, Grantaire couldn’t go over there. Well, he couldn’t not go over there, because Bahorel and Feuilly were expecting some Long Island Vash-teas, and–

“Grantaire.”

Fuck.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said. “You’re here.”

“As are you.”

“Wow, great observation. You’re so good at noticing things,” Grantaire snorted.

“I’m really not,” Enjolras said, taking a sip of some pink-colored drink. “Can I get you something?”

“Offering to buy me a drink?” Grantaire smirked.

“It’s an open bar.”

Grantaire laughed. “I’ll take three.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

“For Bahorel and Feuilly, too,” Grantaire explained. “Although hey, it’s Purim, even you’re letting loose.” Maybe it was the shots in his empty stomach, maybe it was the fact that he had been talking to Enjolras for more than half a second without arguing, and that just wouldn’t stand. “Figured you would’ve thought it’s beneath you.”

“You have no idea what I think,” Enjolras snapped. “Or who I’m thinking about.”

“I didn’t–” he didn’t say anything about who Enjolras was thinking about, did he? But Enjolras’s pink cup was almost empty, and he wasn’t known for having much of a filter when he was sober, and oh shit, “you’re thinking about someone?”

Enjolras handed Grantaire a shot glass, and took one for himself. Because if there was one way to get Grantaire to shut up, it was a drink. “L’chaim.”

“L’chaim.”

The night turned into a blur of dancing, and drinking, and at one point, a game of pin-the-king-on-the-Ahasuerus. Grantaire’s head was spinning, and the room was spinning around it, and he was on top of the world but if he thought more about Enjolras he might start screaming, and if he thought more about anything that wasn’t Enjolras his brain was going to explode because thinking, and the Glee mashup of I Still Believe/Super Bass was playing for some reason, and…

He could lie down in the photo booth. It beamed from across the room, like the promised land, only if he had to walk for forty years to reach it he might die, and…

  
  


His back hurt.

Grantaire was barely twenty one, and his back was killing him, which seemed unfair. Like, he already had the cynicism of an old man, did he really need the matching back issues?

Wait, this wasn’t his bed; he was sitting up– don’t sleep on hard plastic, probably. This wasn’t his dorm– it was tiny, but it wasn’t a small rectangular box with a curtain on one side. Besides, he could never have anyone over to his dorm, the whiteboard outside was currently a list of Star Trek: The Next Generation characters ranked by fuckability, which while important information, doesn’t exactly scream “come sleep with me,” and there was someone on him, slumped against his shoulder, blond hair spilling everywhere– _Enjolras_? Did Grantaire pass out in a photo booth with Enjolras? 

He tried to wiggle his phone out of his back pocket without waking Enjolras, but– wait, his phone was in the back pocket of his jeans, which were with the horse mask in Cosette’s dorm. Well, like all ill-fated naps in a photo booth in your college dining hall, this one would have to come to an end.

“Apollo,” Grantaire murmured. “Wake up.”

“Hmm?” Enjolras stirred.

“There’s some joke to be made about the sun god being awake with the sun, but I’m tired and disoriented,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras shot up. “You don’t get credit for making a joke if you’re not actually putting the pieces together.”

There it was, the perfect way to wake Enjolras up: with an argument.

“You’re up!” Grantaire yawned. “I don’t have my phone, what time is it?

“Five til six,” Enjolras glanced at his watch. “Why are we asleep in a photo booth?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Grantaire groaned. Enjolras pulled his phone out. “Ooh, is that your lock screen set to a photo of me eating a hamantaschen? Are we piecing together the night before like a fun murder mystery? Is this–”

Enjolras pulled up a video on Courfeyrac’s instagram story of himself, wide-eyed, staring at Grantaire hula-hooping from across the room. “You’re the horse!” Video-Enjolras shouted.

“You’re hot!” Grantaire called back, shifting the hoop up from his waist to his shoulders, and damn, who knew drunk Grantaire was so good at hula-hooping? When did that happen?

The camera angle turned to Courfeyrac and Combeferre, both laughing maniacally.

“That explains about nothing,” Grantaire said.

“You were the horse?”

“Dude. Who else do you know that owns an entire horse mask, come on?”

“Bahorel,” Enjolras replied. Of course. “Um, thanks for saving me from Pontmercy.”

Grantaire giggled. “He wasn’t asking you out, you know, that boy is _deeply_ in love with Cosette.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to thank you here.” He watched as Courf’s insta story continued. Next was a selfie from everyone else, post-party at Waffle House, with Courfeyrac doing bunny ears over Marius’s head.

“We missed out on hash browns?” Grantaire fake-gasped. Enjolras laughed. His text messages were next to investigate: one from Combeferre reading _where are you and R? You’re not one to miss out on cleaning up_ , and one from Courfeyrac with a bunch of winking emojis. “Like, I was way too drunk for anything to happen last night, tell Courf to take those winking emojis back.” 

“I’m gonna see if we took any photos,” Enjolras said, cracking the curtain open.

“The light, it burns!” Grantaire exclaimed as Enjolras reached around to check for photo strips.

“Got one.” He handed a strip to Grantaire: Enjolras and Grantaire staring intently at each other. Enjolras and Grantaire, still staring intently at each other, but closer this time. A blur of blond hair obscuring the frame. Enjolras passed out asleep on Grantaire’s shoulder.

“I’m framing this.” Grantaire was going to say something he would regret, but it was six in the morning and he had spent three hours asleep in a photo booth with Enjolras, so any sort of filter was gone. Just in case Bahorel and Feuilly’s theory had any weight, Grantaire broached the boyfriend topic. “So what will your mysterious boyfriend think of you falling asleep on some other boy?”

“What boyfriend?” Enjolras looked confused.

“There’s no boyfriend?”

Enjolras stared blankly. “What in the world would give you the idea that I had a boyfriend?”

“Thursday nights.”

Enjolras blushed. Grantaire had never seen Enjolras blush before, and it was a thing of beauty. “I, err, have Zumba class.”

Grantaire burst out in laughter. “ _Zumba_?”

“At the senior center.” Enjolras buried his head in his hands.

“Hot.”

“It’s not a _secret_ ,” Enjolras explained, “I just don’t advertise it.”

“And you Zumba all night long.”

Enjolras turned redder. Grantaire was going to die. “Cosette’s dad is in my class, and I might go to his house afterwards for dinner and HGTV?”

There was so much to unpack. First: “Cosette’s dad. Cosette’s dad, who could snap my neck in half. He does Zumba.”

“His friend has high blood pressure, and that’s the only way to get him to work out, I think.”

Grantaire almost couldn’t breath, this was too good. “Cosette’s dad has a special friend. And they do Zumba together. And then after Zumba, you all go and watch HGTV, like some modern sitcom family.”

“My two dads,” Enjolras deadpanned. “Only it’s actually gay.”

“Did you just call them your dads?” Grantaire giggled. “No, don’t explain the reference, my imagination is way better than whatever old pop culture you’ve actually heard of.”

Enjolras sighed.

“So we really did just take a nap in a photo booth, huh?” Grantaire was still giggling. “I know you’re supposed to get so drunk on Purim that you can’t tell your friends from your enemies, but I didn’t think the _megillah_ said anything about physically sleeping on them.”

“Are we friends or enemies?” Enjolras asked.

“You tell me.”

“Grantaire, if I’m reading this situation wrong, or if you never want to talk to me again– well, if you never want to talk to me again, meetings will be a lot more productive–”

“– _hey!_ ”

“–but I really want to kiss you right now.”

Grantaire nodded, eyes widened. Was he still drunk? Or dreaming? Or–

Enjolras’s mouth was on his. Enjolras’s mouth was on his, this was not a drill, or a dream. Or maybe it was a dream, but not one he wanted to wake up from anytime soon.

“Enemies, then?” Grantaire whispered before crashing his lips back onto Enjolras’s. “Um, should we–”

“We should get out of the photo booth,” Enjolras said.

“You know, as romantic as the college dining hall is…” Grantaire joked.

Enjolras yawned. “I’m gonna go back to bed.”

“Not used to kissing boys hungover on three hours of sleep?”

“Something like that,” he smiled.

There was a reason Purim was Grantaire’s favorite holiday, and it wasn’t just for the excuse to dress up and get drunk.

**Author's Note:**

> One hundred and twenty-seven thanks to Bread for beta-ing!!
> 
> Join the [Hoes for Enjolras](https://discord.com/invite/vERrqvA) on discord if you want to hear me yell more about what everyone's Purim costumes would be (had I places to go, Bahorel's costume would have been mine this year), or if you just want my hamantaschen recipe, because I have spent the past week nonstop baking in order to perfect it.
> 
> Comments/kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> Chag Purim, y'all. Party on.


End file.
